Intoxicating
by Unbelievable.Mishap
Summary: R27. Tsuna decided that smoking was not his cup of tea.


**A/N: Woohoo, another R27 one. I need to improve my writing skills; they're still rusty, so again, I apologize for any tense or grammatical errors, for I usually leave them unnoticed. Hope you enjoy this one, and don't hit the back button until you review.**

**Characters and series © Amano Akira**

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_**A man shall not speak in empathy**_

_**until he has shed his own skin**_

_**in order to live in another's.**_

_**-.-.-**_

Tsuna stuck out his tongue in distaste, the odor of the burning cigarette flowing through his nostrils and making his nose scrunch up, revolted. He didn't know why Reborn smoked so often— especially during his free time in Tsuna's study. Hell, even Gokudera still smoked, but not when in the presence of the Tenth. He also heard that smoking could give you lung cancer, or shorten your life, or even cause a hole in your throat! He wasn't sure on which rumors were true, but every mention of the consequences made him shudder. How horrible it would be if Reborn had suffered from any of those symptoms. He groaned, wanting desperately to complain, but he had no say in Reborn's actions. From experience, and from common knowledge, he was far too young to give the hitman orders. Plus, speaking up in disapproval could trigger a bomb, or something...

Another puff of white smog flew freely from his tutor's lips and dissipated faster than Tsuna could stop his oncoming headaches. If reality was animated, he was confident that red veins could be noticeable on his forehead from miles away. "Aah, Reborn, I can't really concentrate with you... doing that."

Inhale. Charcoal, pitch-black eyes scanning the book in his hands did not leave the inked words to glance at his converser. "Doing what, Dame-Tsuna?"

Said idiot cringed more at his intake of the cigarette than his insulting nickname. He propped an elbows upon his wooden desk and rested his head in his hand, the other free one raking his auburn hair in exasperation. "_That_," he clarified, jabbing a finger in the direction of the rolled tobacco, "Smoking."

He exhaled; the umpteenth exhale of the day with a puff of smoke following. And abruptly, a round of bullets resounded throughout the Vongola Headquarters, followed by shattered glass that was sure to cost more than Tsuna's monthly salary. The startled Guardians rose from their beds, their chairs, whatever their bodies were occupying at the time, and stood still in caution, hands stretched outwards in the direction of their weapons. But after the familiar girlish cry that echoed from Decmio's office, they resumed their activities either in pensive faces of '_what the hell did he do now,' _or hearty laughter.

Well, Tsuna expressed neither. More like horror, for he was now in the pitiful fetal position under his desk, clutching to the paperwork he was scribbling on only moments prior to. "R-Reborn?"

"What were you saying before, Dame-Tsuna?" Reborn slid his revolver back into his hidden shoulder holster, concealed by his formal mafia suit. From the observation of Tsuna's immediate change in behavior, he didn't need to waste another set of bullets.

_Argh, so casual!! _Tsuna thought angrily as Reborn carelessly dismissed his whines, the fact he almost shot his head off again, _and _broke a window! By now, certainly he had gotten used to the explosions and infinite times of having holes almost being drilled into him, but spending the Vongola Family's finances on something that didn't need to be fixed daily was slowly making him snap. Carefully, he rephrased the request into a non-threatening, non-provocative question: "...Why do you smoke, Reborn?"

Fortunately, no weapons were drawn, no furniture was blown into pieces, or any bombs went off. Well, at least not within the vicinity of the Vongola Estate.

"Because I can," he said, flipping a page.

"_What kind of a damn answer is_—" The sudden appearance of a gun in Reborn's hand spoke for itself, at the same time silencing him.

With a heavy sigh, Tsuna crawled from under the table and rested on top of it, cradling his head in his hands, far beyond irritated. Why was smoking so addicting, he wondered ever since childhood. What made the drug so damn _good _that people's will power alone couldn't save them from it? He couldn't imagine why. The taste must be _disgusting_, he thought bitterly, the tobacco crunching against your teeth and catching onto your tongue, your lips becoming chapped from the cigarette's rough wrapping. Over time, your voice gets raspy, and coughs can no longer be cured from a usual downed pill and water. In fact, he was still surprised Reborn's voice still so smooth, so mellow and deep; no flaws at all. Tsuna came to a conclusion: why not try it for himself?

I mean, what the hell, he was at a decent age to try anything illegal for minors. And as they say, don't knock it 'till you try it.

"Mm, Reborn?" he asked, voice introverted.

"Yeah?"

"Can I... try it?" Dark brows rose at this, but lips did not speak to question or say, _"Dame-Tsuna, you'll probably place it in the wrong way,"_ (his mouth was occupied to say anything anyhow). Instead, a cigarette was handed to him with pale fingers, and were taken by Decimo's sun-kissed ones. Tsuna waited for further directions, because he imagined some sort of trick behind it— _What if I do it wrong, and I end up choking on it? _Tsuna mused in terror, a lump in his throat forming at the idea. But when no instructions came, he simply followed Reborn when he grabbed another one, sticking it in between his lips and lighting it.

Problem is, he had no lighter.

And just like the payment for new windows, he did not want to ignite his flame of will for no decent reason, _especially _for a frill.

So, rather than doing such, Tsuna leaned forward and pressed the cigarette to Reborn's in attempt to light it, oblivious to the centimeters apart from each other's mouths. He wasn't sure if he should mentally celebrate or think of it as unfortunate, for his cigarette burned an orange-yellowish glow and began to strip the paper off the tobacco, burnt marks heading up the butt. And, just as his tutor did, he inhaled—

—And almost died.

Coughs immediately wracked through his body as soon as the smoke was sucked in through his lungs. It burnt, and was painful to breathe. His tongue pressed against the object in his mouth, fumbling with the wrapper until it peeled, damp with his spittle and was swallowed; the source of the hacking. Tsuna barked into the crook of his arms, groping around for something to grab onto. Which just happened to be something of Reborn's.

No, it was not in the southern region.

Fingers wrapped around the older hitman's shoulder for support, or maybe for a subconscious desperation for comfort? He didn't know. But the coughing fit seemed to have ceased when Reborn plucked the cigarette from his lips. After a few more minutes of pondering about what he did wrong, Tsuna calmed his body down, hands rubbing his temples to massage his frazzled mind. "R-Reborn—"

Reborn tapped the cigarette on the brim of his fedora, extinguishing the small flame. "Dame-Tsuna, you placed it in the wrong way."

_You know...!! _The nerve! But instead of screaming vehemently at his tutor's face and risking a blown off limb, hands forcefully grabbed Reborn's necktie and pulled him forward, compelling his lips to be pressed up against Tsuna's. He must've caught Reborn off-guard, for a small, _'Mmph...' _was heard in astonishment.

By far, it was one of Sawada's most sloppiest, most unromantic kisses ever— well, it wasn't a kiss, it was more of a 'free sample' thing, like those things in the supermarket you try instead of purchasing the entire product. Hazel orbs remained wide open, attempting to give the best menacing, determined glare he could manage while staring into the older hitman's dark, ebony eyes. But such an expression was too malign, to uncharacteristic for him, that it came out menacingly _adorable._

The cigarette was slid to the corner of Reborn's mouth, leaving room for Tsuna's tongue to slide across Reborn's lips, trying desperately to find the taste of tobacco on his flesh. _Why... Why is smoking so good? Is it the taste? The burning sensation? _Tsuna wondered furiously, mind so clouded with questions he did not notice Reborn pull him over onto his lap. Tsuna sucked, lapped, and bit, and—

_...Oh, __**God**__, _he _moaned._

That audible, ecstatic vibration from his throat set Reborn off somehow, for in only a quarter of a second, Tsuna found himself straddled and pinned down to his desk by strong, callous arms, causing papers to fly and pens to roll off the edges. The Vongola victim arched up from the table in a shrill cry of pain and surprise, opening his mouth— in which Reborn took this for an opportunity. The tutor's slick muscle battled against Decimo's in a heated passion as open mouths pressed together, battling for dominance and pleasure. Tsuna's palette found what it was looking for, that bitter tobacco Reborn smoked all day, along with hints of espresso and fettucini, mingled with other delectable (or nauseating) tastes he could not put his finger on.

It was either a foreign taste, or Reborn was sucking the brain capacity out of him to the point that he could not comprehend anything.

"Mmh, R-Reb-aah...! Rebo-_orn_...sto..." Tsuna whimpered, the last bits of his sanity giving him a mental slug across the face. This, he now realized, was going too far, and was astray from the original objective. But... _Goddamn_, the way Reborn massaged his tongue against his, how the older man's hands were seductively running along his sides under his untucked blouse, covered flesh screaming for freedom from under his clothes. Tsuna's body ached and sweated as blood pumped to his cheeks, his hormones screaming in rapture as electricity shot down to his southern region. He was certain his fate now led to a form of sexual violation— well, until Reborn's lips left his. A mewl of disappointment went unheard as Reborn readjusted his suit, redid his tie, and lit his twentieth cigarette of the day.

When it was obvious Reborn had no intention to continue, Tsuna groaned, rolling off the cluttered desk to stack up his papers and retrieved the pens lying in various places of the office. After half an hour wasted trying to reorganize what was once a pecuniary disaster zone, he smoothed out his crumpled habiliments and plopped down onto his chair, head resting on folded arms on the table, exhausted while accepting defeat.

He still had no answer as to why Reborn smoked, and concluded that hey, he had a right to smoke, just as Tsuna had a right to laugh, have friends, or go to the bathroom. Why bother to ask? Besides, a passionate make-out session with Reborn could not have been of the possible reasons.

But the satisfied smirk on Reborn's lips proved otherwise.


End file.
